


Even If We Can't Find Heaven

by eternaleponine



Series: From the Mouths of Babes [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And The Truth Comes Out, F/F, Foster Care, In Which The Shit Finally Hits The Fan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clarke is at art camp and Lexa is still at home.  Both of them see a television program about the fall of a group of survivalists living in the woods five years ago... and the past Lexa thought she had buried claws its way back into the light.





	1. Chapter 1

Lexa scowled at the dough as it peeled back from the edge of the pan again, hating it for not cooperating and hating herself for suggesting that they make pizza in the first place because it reminded her of Clarke and the fact that she hadn't talked to her in three days. 

It wasn't that she hadn't heard from her; they texted back and forth when they could. But campers weren't allowed to have their phones with them during their classes and activities, only during free time, and they weren't supposed to use them after lights out at ten o'clock, which seemed early to Lexa considering that the camp was full of teenagers, but Clarke said that by that time they were all practically falling over exhausted anyway. She also said there was basically no privacy anywhere, which was why she'd only called a few times. Even texts were likely to be spied on by nosy neighbors peeking over her shoulder, so they couldn't say anything that really mattered.

It figured that the one time Lexa really needed to talk to Clarke, she wasn't around. And it was Lexa's own fault.

Anya nudged her, smirking when Lexa looked up. "What's that look for?" she asked. 

Lexa shrugged. "Nothing."

"Uh-huh," Anya said. "Sure." She lifted the dough from Lexa's pan and stretched it gently over her fists, letting gravity do the work. She couldn't do the whole toss it in the air and catch it thing (it had been a disaster the last time she tried) but when she put the dough back down, Lexa barely had to do anything at all to make it stretch the rest of the way on the pan. 

Anya spooned several dollops of sauce onto her own pie and slid the jar over to Lexa. "I can practically hear the gears whirring in your head," she said. "Whatever it is, just say it. You'll feel better."

Lexa pressed her lips together and shook her head, spreading the sauce in a thin, even coat over the dough, leaving just enough crust at the edges to hold on to and not overdoing it; she didn't like too much sauce. She reached for the bag of shredded cheese next and dumped some on, then focused on making that as even as possible, too. Like if she could make the perfect pizza, everything else in her life would make sense, too.

She started arranging toppings on the pizza, not thinking about what she was doing until the face had already started to take shape. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood and quickly scattered the pepperoni and olives so that they weren't looking back at her. 

Anya checked the oven to make sure the preheat light was off and opened the door. She slid her pizza onto the bottom rack, then reached for Lexa's and put it on top. She set the timer so she could switch them halfway and began to clean up the mess they'd made. Lexa sat down, knowing she would only be in the way if she tried to help. Anya didn't say anything, or even look at Lexa, and finally the silence was too much and Lexa cracked.

"She wants to adopt me," she blurted. "Miss Becca. She said she wants to adopt me."

Anya was absolutely still for a second before she turned to look at Lexa. "You told her yes, right?"

"No," Lexa said.

Anya's eyes went wide. "You told her _no_?" 

"No," Lexa said. "I didn't tell her anything. I said... or she said I could think about it. That she didn't need an answer right away."

"What is there to think about?" Anya demanded. She actually sounded angry, and part of Lexa flinched away from it, and another part leaned into it, because it was familiar. It was something she knew how to deal with. "You're happy there, aren't you?"

"Yes," Lexa said. 

"So what is there to think about?" Anya asked again. "You think you can do better somewhere else?"

Lexa forced back her shoulders because she wanted to hunch them, wanted to slide into herself because yeah, Anya was pissed, but... not the kind of pissed that made you lash out with fists, and words were harder to ignore. They always had been. Whoever made up the whole 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me' didn't know a damned thing as far as Lexa was concerned. 

Anya shook her head, breaking the staring contest they'd been engaged in, and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "That wasn't fair."

"She says I can stay even if I'm not adopted," Lexa said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. 

"I know," Anya said. "She's good like that." She sat down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs and folded her arms on the table. Lexa pressed her hands between her knees, then realized what she as doing and unclenched them. "You know she offered to adopt me after I turned eighteen?"

Lexa shook her head. Anya had never told her. She wondered suddenly what else Anya hadn't told her. Her big sister who had always listened to her, always comforted her... who had listened to Anya? Who had been there for her when she needed someone? It sure as hell hadn't been Lexa; she'd always been too wrapped up in her own problems, and now guilt gnawed at her guts as she realized how selfish she'd been. 

"My mom..." Anya sighed. "She was always and never there. Like... she always managed to do just the bare minimum to keep the courts from terminating her rights, but never enough to actually be a mom or get me out of foster care. When I would go away sometimes for a weekend... I was visiting her."

"You hated it," Lexa said. That much she'd noticed. It was kind of hard not to with the amount of swearing that Anya would do while she as packing. She'd never asked where she was going, though, and Anya had never offered the information. 

"I did," Anya said, "because I knew it wasn't real. I wanted to say no, but I was afraid that if I did, she would get it into her head to push harder, to try just enough more that the court might decide that maybe it might be okay if I was with her for longer than just a visit, and I didn't want that to happen. Especially after you came. So I put up with it, let her feel like she wasn't a complete fuck-up once a month, and then came home." Anya forced a smile. "When I turned eighteen, she didn't have any rights over me anymore. I haven't seen her since. But Miss Becca asked to adopt me anyway."

"What did you say?" Lexa asked. 

"I said no," Anya said. "There are rules about how many kids you can have in your house, how many fosters and all that, and maybe it wouldn't have mattered if she adopted me, but all I could think was that if she did, and somehow that got counted against her, that it would mean one less kid that she could help who really needed it. So I said no. But you don't have to. You shouldn't."

"Why not?" Lexa asked. "If adopting me means—"

"You would be staying with her anyway," Anya said. "Adopted or not. So it wouldn't make a difference as far as how many possible fosters she could take." 

"What's the difference then?" Lexa asked. "Why does it matter? If I can stay there anyway, if it doesn't change anything—"

"That's not what I said!" Anya smacked her palm on the table, and Lexa flinched, then set her jaw hard, braced herself so she wouldn't give anything away if Anya did it again. But Anya noticed, and her shoulders slumped. She slid her hand across the table, palm up, and Lexa loosened her grip on one of her knees to put her own hand in it, also palm up. She waited for Anya's fingers to close around her wrist. Whatever was going to happen next, Lexa would bear it. 

Anya looked down at her hand, then up at her, and something in her expression shifted, and she slowly slid her hand out from under Lexa's. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly. "I'm... I'm getting this all wrong. I know I am. But I would never hurt you."

"I know," Lexa lied, because promises were just words. 

Anya's eyes filled with tears and she brushed them away hastily. "Excuse me," she said, and disappeared into the bathroom. She was gone so long that the timer beeped, and Lexa had to switch the pizzas herself and set the timer again, and still Anya hadn't come out. 

The front door of the apartment opened, and Raven came in, dumping a pile of stuff at her feet as she groaned and flopped onto the couch. Raven was Anya's roommate, and Lexa thought maybe sometimes more than that, but she wasn't sure. Anya had never had any boyfriends when she was living with Miss Becca, but she hadn't had any girlfriends, either. She hadn't seemed all that interested in having a relationship with anyone, but maybe that was just another thing that Lexa had been oblivious to. "Oh, hey Lexa," she said. "Where's Anya?" 

"Bathroom," Lexa said. 

"Do I smell pizza?"

"Yes," Anya said, finally coming out. "There's no pineapple on it, because it's an abomination." 

Raven laughed and stuck out her tongue. "You're no fun," she said. 

"If you don't like it, you don't have to have any," Anya said. "Did you switch them?" she asked Lexa, not quite meeting her eyes. She didn't have to for Lexa to see that hers were red-rimmed, the tip of her nose pink. She'd been crying, and it was Lexa's fault. 

"Yes," Lexa said, "and reset the timer."

"Good girl," Anya said. 

Lexa stood up, shuffling half a step closer, her arms held awkwardly at her sides because she didn't know what to do with them, didn't know how to offer comfort when she'd always been the one taking it. If it was Clarke who was upset, it would be easy, but Anya wasn't Clarke. 

Anya looked at her and her eyes welled up again, but she reached out and pulled Lexa into her, holding her tight, and Lexa locked her arms around Anya's waist and held on. "I'm sorry," Anya whispered. "I need to learn to control my temper. It's one of the things I inherited from my mom, one of the things I hated about her, and every time I think I've finally put her in the rearview..." She shook her head, her cheek pressing against Lexa's. "I didn't mean to scare you," she said. "I know I did, and I'm sorry. I was always – at least I tried to be – the best version of myself with you. For you. I guess now you know that that's not really me."

Lexa lifted her head so she could look at Anya's face. "It is," she said. "It _is_ you." 

They were interrupted by Raven, calling from the living room (which was only a few steps away). She'd turned on the TV, probably so she wouldn't overhear them when they were obviously having a moment, and images of a forest flashed on a screen. "Check this shit out," she said. "Some kind of retrospective on a crazy survivalist cult that got taken down not far from here five years ago."

Lexa's blood turned to ice.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ugh, change the channel! No one wants to watch the stupid news!"

"No, hold on, go back! I think that was one of those true crime shows or something – I love those!"

"I don't want to watch—"

"Shut up, you got to pick last night!"

"Come on, you were totally loving the dudes in spandex just as much as I was, so—"

"Dudes? I don't care about dudes!"

"The chicks, then, whatever, you still liked it!"

"Will you all SHUT UP?! I'm trying to hear!"

Clarke clamped her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the cacophony of her campmates fighting over what to watch. It was raining – pouring, really – so their twilight canoe paddle and bonfire had been postponed. They were showing a movie in the dining hall later, but it was something lame no one really wanted to watch, so they were back in the Rec cabin arguing over the TV as usual. 

On another night, she might have joined in the fray. Tonight, though... tonight her homesickness was gnawing at her guts worse than it had since the first night, and all she wanted was some peace and quiet to call Lexa. She was sure that if she could just hear her voice, she would feel better. But as it was, she could barely hear herself think. 

She started to type a text, then erased it. She didn't want words on a screen. She wanted to _talk_ to her. Or not talk. They could sit in silence. Even just listening to Lexa breathing would help. She pushed herself out of her seat and tapped on Lexa's name, holding her thumb over the button that would dial her number as she headed for the bathroom. It wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation, but at least it would be quieter...

"Hey Clarke, isn't that down around where you live?"

Clarke looked over and saw one of her cabinmates, Maya, pointing at the screen. On it the camera was panning across an expanse of forest, slowly zooming in on a cluster of buildings, some of which looked like they were built to withstand an apocalypse, while others appeared to be slapped together and like a stiff breeze might take them down. The legend in the corner gave the location and yes, it was near her. Near-ish, anyway. A few hours away, in an area of the state where pretty much no one lived.

Except people _had_ lived there. That was the whole point.

"Turn it up," she said. Maya grabbed the remote and clicked the volume up a few notches. 

" _... a sort of Doomsday Cult, bonded over their distrust of the government and an overwhelming desire to be ready when the end came. They might have continued to live off in their corner of the woods indefinitely if it hadn't been for the children._ "

"Oh shit," someone said. "Is this gonna be some kind of _Deliverance_ shit? Or like that X-Files episode that—"

"Shhhh!" 

" _... Although the area where they lived was secluded, they maintained ties to the general population, with many holding jobs in nearby towns where they could keep their ear to the ground for news that the end was nigh. They also offered their expertise to members of surrounding communities, teaching various camping and survival skills as another source of income. It was an attendee of one of these events who first noticed that all might not be as it seemed. Five years ago, the police received an anonymous tip about a child living on the compound. The fact that there were children among this group of outsiders was already known, as was the fact that the community exercised the right to homeschool the children. It had previously been assumed that they were all children of adult members, although we now know that they were raised communally, to the point where if their parents were present, the children themselves were unlikely to be aware of any biological connection. But according to the caller, one of the children bore a striking resemblance to a picture they'd seen on a Missing Persons flier. Even though the caller knew that they were taking a risk by betraying the strict set of rules that had been outlined before they had been allowed to set foot on the community's land, they made the decision that the welfare of the child was paramount. The tip about the missing child led to the search and seizure of the compound and all of its inhabitants, including nine children between the ages of eight and eleven._ "

The screen went to grainy footage from the raid, which from the quality of the light appeared to have happened near sunset. It showed adults being taken away in handcuffs, guns being seized and piled up, children with their faces blurred being led away wrapped in blankets. 

Clarke watched as two children – from the way they were dressed and what Clarke could see of their hair, it looked like two girls – clung to each other, hands grabbing arms which slid to wrists, then fingertips before they were finally torn apart, struggling against the men who were responsible for putting them in the hands of whoever would take them away to wherever they were go.

One of the girls – definitely a girl, based on her long braids – was led directly toward the camera, giving a clear shot of the T-shirt she wore before it got too blurry and the camera switched focus. Red, with a biohazard symbol emblazoned on the front. 

Something lit up in Clarke's mind. She had seen that shirt before, but she couldn't quite bring the memory into focus.

" _... placed in foster care while authorities searched for..._ "

... and the pieces began to tumble into place, and the weight of them buckled Clarke's knees and she grabbed the back of the couch for support. 

Five years ago. Early summer. A little girl with long dark braids, sitting next to her on the porch, wearing a shirt as red as the popsicle she was sucking on, which had a symbol on it that Clarke hadn't known the name of but had seen when she'd gone to visit her mom at the hospital, on the bins where they put the used needles.

_Lexa._

Bits and pieces of the narration came through, but the sound seemed to go in and out, or maybe it was just that Clarke's heart was pounding too loud in her ears for her to hear properly. 

" _... allegations of child abuse..._ "

" _... trained to distrust any outsider, but especially any government authority..._ "

" _... interrogation tactics..._ " 

" _... physical and mental torture..._ "

Her mind flashed to the strange cluster of round scars on the back of Lexa's shoulder. She'd asked about them once, the first time they'd gone to the pool together, and Lexa had clapped a hand over them even as she claimed that she didn't know where they'd come from, and Clarke hadn't questioned it at the time and eventually she'd gotten so used to them that she didn't think to question it again.

" _... the outcome of the trial hinged on the testimony of the children, who were being kept in protective custody for the trial's duration, but they weren't talking..._ "

Trial. Protective custody. Was _that_ why Lexa had been taken in the middle of the night all those years ago?

" _... finally caught a break when one of the children opened up and gave them the information they needed..._ "

" _... guilty verdict just before Christmas..._ "

That's when she'd come home. When Clarke's one and only wish for Christmas had come true. 

It all fit. It even made sense, as much as anything like this could make sense. 

But Lexa had never told her. Never said a word. 

Why hadn't Lexa _told_ her?

Clarke forced herself away from the TV, out of the room and toward the door, not knowing where she was going but knowing she needed to be anywhere but in that room, learning the history of the person she'd thought she was closest to from the fucking television instead of from Lexa herself. 

She'd never lied to Lexa. Not once. She'd never held anything back.

And Lexa had never told her the truth. Not about where she came from. Not about who she was. 

Who _was_ she?

"Clarke, where you are going?" one of the counselors asked as she stormed past him. "You need to—"

"I need to make a phone call," she said. "It's an emergency."

His eyes widened. "Is everything all right? Do you—"

"I just need to make a call, that's all. I just need some f—I just need a little quiet so I can make a phone call."

"All right," he said, handing her an umbrella. "Just... don't go too far."

"Thanks," she said, taking it and opening it as she pushed through the door, huddling under its meager shelter and staring at her phone, at Lexa's name on the screen with her photo above it. In it she was smiling like she only really smiled for Clarke, soft and peaceful and relaxed, and Clarke had kissed her right after taking it because how could she not when she looked like that, like there was no place she'd rather be and no one she'd rather be with?

Tears filled Clarke's eyes. _That_ wasn't a lie. The way Lexa looked at her, the way she touched her, the way they could just _be_ together without saying a word and know what the other was thinking and feeling anyway... not all the time but sometimes... all those moments spent in their treehouse and in Clarke's room and sitting next to each other on the bus and in class and...

None of that was a lie. 

The things Lexa hadn't said didn't negate the things that she had, or the things that she hadn't needed to. The past that she hadn't shared... maybe she hadn't known how to. Maybe it was easier to move forward instead of looking back. Maybe she'd just wanted to forget.

And now Clarke knew, whether Lexa wanted her to or not. Now dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of people knew, and Lexa had had no say in it. That much Clarke was sure of. Her face was blurred so they didn't need her permission, and that wasn't fair. 

None of it was fair, but especially not having what might have been a healed or healing wound torn up and put on display for the world. 

A knot formed in Clarke's chest as she realized how selfish she was being, with her first thought for herself and not for Lexa. However confused or hurt or betrayed Clarke might feel, it was _nothing_ to what Lexa must be going through. 

And Clarke wasn't even there to help her through it. But she could call. She could do that much. It was the least she could do, really.

She hit the button to dial Lexa, the phone pressed against her ear so hard it would probably leave an imprint on the screen, her fingers clenched so tight they ached. 

The phone rang and rang and finally went to voicemail. Clarke hung up and dialed again. Just before it went to voicemail a second time, someone picked up, but they didn't say anything. 

"Lexa?" she said. Was her phone in her pocket or something? Had she answered by accident? 

A pause, and then, "No. It's Anya."

"Oh. Is Lexa there?"

"She's here," Anya said. "Clarke, now isn't—"

"I saw. On the TV. It's her, isn't it? She's one of those kids." 

"Yes," Anya said. "I think so, yes."

"Can I please talk to her?" Clarke said. "Please."

"I'm really not sure she's—"

"Please," Clarke repeated. "I just... I need to tell her I..." She bit her lip, not sure what Anya did and didn't know and if it mattered at this point. "I need to tell her I love her," she finished. "I need her to know that this doesn't change anything."

A second's silence, and then, "Hold on." Clarke assumed Anya took the phone away from her face, but she could still hear her faintly, saying, "Lexa? It's Clarke. I think you should talk to her."

She couldn't hear Lexa's response, if there even was one, and then Anya was saying something else but Clarke couldn't make it out. Finally, she heard breathing on the other end of the line again. "Lexa?"

A sniff, a sigh, but no words. 

"I wish I was there," Clarke said, "so I could hold you. You believe that more than you believe words. You always have." Maybe now Clarke understood why, sort of. 

_Interrogation tactics._

_Torture._

She shuddered. 

"But I'm not there, and you're not here, so I hope that words can be enough until I see you again. I love you, Lexa. Nothing... none of this changes that. It doesn't change who you are to me, who you've always been. My best friend. The one I love more—the one I love the most. You don't need to say anything if you don't want to, if you're not ready, if... I just need you to know that. Okay?"

She could hear Lexa crying, hear Anya telling her that it was all right, she could cry if she needed to, she had every right and reason to, and then she said, louder, "She's nodding, Clarke. As stubborn as she is, she doesn't actually have rocks in her head so you can't hear them rattle, but she's nodding."

And then Clarke heard something she hadn't expected, something that made the knots of tension in her chest unwind: Lexa laughed. It was soft, almost more of a hiccup than a laugh, but it was real. 

"I love you too," Lexa said softly. "I'm sorry I never told you. I—"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Clarke said. "You didn't owe me an explanation then, and you don't owe me one now."

"I know," Lexa said, and Clarke wasn't sure if she really meant it or if it was just a rote response. "I... I'd still like to try. Maybe not tonight, but... but I'd like you to know. Now. If... if you mean it when you say it won't change anything. Because... because I was just Lexa to you. Always just Lexa. I wasn't the girl who was taught everything wrong, who knew how to..." She stopped, swallowed. "I was just a regular little girl who maybe said some strange things or did some strange things, but... but you liked me anyway. You wanted to be my friend anyway, and I thought if you knew the truth, you wouldn't like me anymore. You wouldn't want me around anymore, you might be afraid of me, or, or..." 

"The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you," Clarke said. "I know you, Lexa. I know your heart. Because you gave it to me, and I gave you mine. Maybe yours is more bruised and patched up than I knew, but I still want it. I'll still keep it safe. If you want me to."

"Rattle rattle rattle," Anya said. 

"Shut up," Lexa laughed. "Go away. Don't you have pizza to cut up or something?"

"Oooh, pizza," Clarke said. "Is it happy to see you?"

"No," Lexa said. "I started to, but then it made me think of you and miss you, and..."

"Are you coming for Family Day?" Clarke asked. "My parents will bring you. You know they will."

"I can't," Lexa said. "Can't cross state lines."

"Is that because of...?"

"I don't know," Lexa said. "I thought it was for all foster kids but maybe it's just me, because of..." She sighed. "Maybe... maybe I can talk to Miss Becca. Maybe she can get special permission or something."

"Please," Clarke said. "I know it's only one day earlier than I would see you anyway, but... I just want to see you."

"I'll try," Lexa said. "I promise."

"Clarke?" The counselor who had lent her the umbrella was standing in the doorway of the Rec, calling her name into the rain. 

"Shit," Clarke said. "I should go."

"Okay," Lexa said. "I should eat anyway, before it gets cold. Just... text me if you want to. If you can."

"I will," Clarke said. 

"I love you," Lexa said. "Thank you. For calling. And for... just thank you."

"Clarke!"

"I love you too," Clarke said. "Always, no matter what." She hesitated for a second, just to make sure Lexa didn't have anything more to say, then hung up and ducked out of the little sheltered alcove she'd found.

"There you are!" the counselor said. "I said not to go far."

"I know," Clarke said. "I'm sorry."

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Clarke said, "everything's okay." As okay as it could be, anyway. Lexa was with Anya, and Clarke trusted her to know how to help Lexa through whatever she was going through. She'd always loved her fiercely, and Clarke thought fierce might be exactly what Lexa needed right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa set down her phone, dragging air into her lungs and letting it out slowly. It was okay. Clarke knew, and it was okay. 

For now, anyway. Maybe once Clarke had had a chance to think about it, she would change her mind, or maybe when Lexa actually told her the story, _her_ version of the story, maybe then Clarke would decide Lexa wasn't the person she knew after all, maybe then...

She wanted to trust that things would be okay. Clarke had never lied to her before. But now she knew that the same couldn't be said about Lexa. When it came right down to it, everything about her was a lie, wasn't it? Not her feelings for Clarke; those were the most real thing about her. Would Clarke see it that way, though? Lexa hadn't talked about her past, hadn't said anything about it one way or another, but was that silence just another form of deception? 

"I'm sorry," Raven said, and it took Lexa a second to realize she wasn't talking to Anya. "I shouldn't have—I didn't know."

"No one did," Lexa said. Except Miss Becca, she assumed; they wouldn't have placed her with her foster mother without giving her an idea of where she'd come from, would they? Maybe she'd told the Griffins, too, but if she had, they'd never let on. If they'd known, would they still have let Clarke spend time with her? Would they still have let her in their house? But they'd tucked her into bed right next to Clarke even after Mr. Jake had found her hiding in the treehouse with a knife, so they had to know _something_ was different about her, and sure, there had been the conversation she'd overheard the next morning, but in the end nothing had changed. 

"Pizza's ready," Anya said, nudging her gently, prodding her out of the downward spiral that her thoughts were quickly dragging her into. "You know where the plates are." She went into the living room and sprawled on the couch, handing one of the plates she held to Raven and nudging her feet until there was room for her own on the center cushion. 

That left Lexa with the armchair, oversized and understuffed and no one liked sitting in it because once you did, getting back up again was a Herculean task. She sat anyway, her plate of pizza perched on her knees, and stared blankly at the TV screen. Raven had changed the channel and was now shouting out questions to the Jeopardy answers, occasionally kicking Anya gently when she managed to beat her. Anya shoved back, grinning, and Lexa guessed that this was probably a kind of ritual for them, when they were both home for it.

It made her miss Clarke even more, and she ate mechanically, barely tasting the food as she chewed and swallowed and took another bite. 

Her phone buzzed and she ran back to the table where she'd left it, her stomach doing flips, hoping that it would be Clarke. 

**Miss Becca:** Anya told me there was something on the TV about the five-year anniversary. Are you all right?

She didn't need to say what the anniversary was commemorating; she knew that Lexa would know, and not just because of what Anya had told her. 

**Lexa:** I'm okay.

**Miss Becca:** Do you want me to come get you? 

**Lexa:** No. I'm okay.

As if repeating it would make it more true. Fake it 'til you make it, wasn't that what they – whoever _they_ were – said? She had plenty of experience with that; she'd been doing it for the past five years, and longer, if she was really thinking about it. 

**Miss Becca:** I made an appointment with your counselor tomorrow.

**Lexa:** Why?

**Miss Becca:** I thought you might need to talk.

Lexa sighed. Maybe she did, but not to a stranger. She'd seen the counselor several times a week when she first arrived, and then weekly for a while, and now it was just monthly check-ins that would continue for as long as she was in the foster care system. It was in the terms of her foster agreement, or whatever it was called. She'd learned how to give the woman just enough to keep her happy without giving too much away... at least most of the time. Sometimes things leaked and then she had to deal with the fallout, but she was usually very careful. 

She'd learned from the best, after all, about what it took to survive

**Lexa:** Okay. 

There was no point in arguing.

**Miss Becca:** If you need anything, please let me know.

**Lexa:** Okay. 

A second later she realized that there _was_ something she could ask for, and while her foster mother was in this state of enhanced... whatever over her, it might be the best time to ask.

**Lexa:** Actually there is something. 

**Miss Becca:** What is it?

**Lexa:** I want to go to Family Day at Clarke's camp. She says her parents will bring me, but it's out of state. 

A pause, and then:

**Miss Becca:** I'll see what I can do. 

**Lexa:** Thanks.

She went back to staring at the screen, not really processing what she was seeing or hearing. One program slid into another, and there were no more messages from Miss Becca, and only a few from Clarke, who seemed to have decided that silly memes were easier than real conversation, and Lexa tried not to read too much into that, but it was difficult.

She was grateful when Anya decided it was time for bed. She had an early shift the next morning and she had to drop Lexa off at home before she went, so morning was going to come early. Lexa looked away as Anya hugged Raven – she wasn't even sure why – so she didn't know if it was more than a hug, and then she felt shitty about not wanting to know. If Anya was happy, she was happy for Anya, and she was being selfish by wanting her sister to feel her current misery as acutely as she did. 

If that was even what this was. 

Her head was a mess. At least if she was sleeping, she could turn it off for a while. 

Anya's bed stuck out into the middle of the room and Lexa was grateful. She wasn't sure that she could handle being trapped against the wall right now. She couldn't be without a path of egress if she suddenly needed to escape. _Always know where the exits are,_ she'd been taught. _Not just the obvious ones. Always have at least two paths out of any location. If you don't, you're dead._

She tried to stuff the thought back into its box, but the lock had been broken and there were cracks in the lid. Everything was leaking out, and she was helpless to stop it. She burrowed under the covers, her back to Anya, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to force her breathing into the patterns of sleep even though she was sure that sleep tonight would be as elusive as the deer they'd hunted every fall to give them meat for the winter. She'd even taken one down herself once.

Anya's hand landed on her back and she flinched away, but Anya wouldn't let her escape. She reached out and got a grip on Lexa's arm, applying gentle but insistent pressure until she rolled over. "It's okay to not be okay," she said. 

Lexa glowered at her, but even that required more energy than she could muster, and finally she gave up and just shrugged. "You don't have to try to shrink me," she said. "Miss Becca already made an appointment."

Anya made a sound that was the vocal equivalent of an eyeroll. She knew as well as Lexa did how pointless sitting in a room with a stranger who wanted you to spill your deepest, darkest secrets was. 

Not that Lexa had any deep, dark secrets anymore. They'd just been broadcast to the world. Only except for the people who knew her – really knew her – no one actually knew that they were hers. 

The silence stretched between them, and usually Lexa was okay with that, but not tonight. Tonight she needed to fill the darkness with _something_ if she couldn't escape it. 

"I asked her if I could go with the Griffins when they go to pick up Clarke," she said. "She said she would see what she could do. Which probably means no."

"Just another reason to say yes to her adopting you," Anya said. 

Lexa rolled from her back to her side, facing her now. "What do you mean?"

There was just enough light in the room for Lexa to see the outlines of Anya's features, and her eyebrow going up. "If she adopted you, there wouldn't be any rules about where you could and couldn't go, and who you could and couldn't go with, anymore," Anya said. 

Lexa blinked. She hadn't thought about that. If she wasn't a ward of the state anymore, the state wouldn't be the one's dictating the boundaries of her life. The only rules would be the ones that Miss Becca made, and they would almost certainly be less restrictive. Miss Becca trusted her, after all. Lexa had never given her any reason not to, except that one midnight excursion, and her foster mother had been pretty understanding about that. Hell, she'd thought _she_ was the one who needed to earn back Lexa's trust, not the other way around.

"Your life would be so much bigger," Anya said. "You know that every year the Griffins ask to bring you with them on their family vacation?"

Lexa shook her head. She didn't know that. 

"I overheard them talking to Miss Becca about it once," Anya said. "A few years ago, when they went to Disney World. They'd already taken all of the classes to do respite care way back when you first started sleeping over with Clarke, just so there wouldn't be an issue with that, and they hoped that maybe that would be enough to allow them to bring you along, but Miss Becca said it wasn't."

"Oh," Lexa said. She remembered that trip, how Clarke had made her parents let her call Lexa every day to tell her about everything she'd seen and done, and every night she'd said that she missed her and wished she was there because it would be so much better to not be stuck with two lame-o grown-ups all the time, and how she'd showered Lexa with gifts when she got back and Lexa had been allowed to stay at the Griffins' for three days straight to make up for the week apart. 

She hadn't known she'd been invited. 

"Your world could be so much bigger," Anya said, her voice drifting off. Then she asked, "Does Miss Becca know about you and Clarke?" 

Lexa shook her head, not sure where the change in topic had come from. 

"Why not?"

Lexa swallowed. "We thought if we told them they might change the rules," she said. "About... sleeping over and stuff."

"They might," Anya said, "but not for the reason you think. Not exactly." She watched Lexa for a moment, then said, "She wouldn't care about you being with another girl, with Clarke, and I'm pretty sure the Griffins wouldn't either. It's not like either of you can knock the other one up. But if some state asshole found out about it, some homophobic fuckhead with a bug up their ass, they could use it as grounds to take you away."

Lexa froze. "What?"

"'Contributing to the delinquency of a minor,' would most likely be how they would put it. Even though you aren't doing anything illegal, or witnessing anything illegal. Even if eventually it was decided that she hadn't done anything wrong, they would take you away in the meantime while it was investigated."

"How would they even find out?" Lexa asked. 

Anya shrugged. "Who knows? I've seen kids taken away for a whole lot of stupid reasons before. It's like they want to create problems that don't exist, but they never seem to want to actually fix the ones that do." Now she was the one glowering, but not at Lexa. 

Lexa didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. That, and she knew that if she opened her mouth it wouldn't be words that came out but a wail. She'd never really thought about just how restricted her life was, just how many rules bound her and kept her in place until the possibility of breaking free of them was there.

_Stay out from under the government's thumb. Live free or die._

For the first time, it felt like maybe something she'd been taught growing up, before it had all come crashing down, wasn't so wrong after all. 

She had a way out. She just had to brave enough to take it.


	4. Chapter 4

The house was only just starting to gear up for the day when Anya dropped Lexa off, gritty-eyed and achy from lack of sleep. She'd tried, she really had, but every time she drifted off nightmares were waiting for her, and finally she'd given up and just re-read every text and email Clarke had sent her since she'd gone away to camp, over and over again until the words blurred and stopped making sense.

"Good morning," Miss Becca said when she saw her. Lexa grunted and her foster mother smiled sympathetically. "Rough night?" 

Lexa shrugged, then nodded, then forced herself to speak because that was the rule. "Yes ma'am," she said. 

"I don't think anyone is in the shower yet, if you think that will help," she suggested. "Otherwise you can wait until everyone's gone. Your appointment isn't until ten."

Lexa nodded and dragged herself upstairs. She hesitated when she reached the top, looking at the door of her room and then at the bathroom, torn between collapsing into bed and trying to sleep through the day (or as much of it as she was allowed to) and trying to wash the residue of troubled sleep and bad dreams from her skin. 

She finally opted for the latter, because once the littles were up there would be no sleeping anyway, with all of their exuberant shouting and whining, and probably Murphy cursing when they got underfoot. She grabbed her bathrobe and locked herself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and stripping down. When she stepped under the spray she instantly felt a little more human. The hot water helped ease the tension that she hadn't been able to shake off, and the world became just a little more manageable as she moved through her routine... even when she discovered that someone had used all but the last few drops of her favorite bodywash. A flash of anger flared and quickly died; she could always get more. 

She was just reaching for her towel when someone banged on the bathroom door. "I gotta _pee_!" they whined. "Hurry _up_."

"Just a minute," Lexa called back. She hastily scrubbed the water from her skin, then wound the towel around her head and wrapped up in her bathrobe. "All yours," she said, stepping aside as one of the littles burst past her, not even waiting for her to be out of the bathroom before yanking down his pajamas. She quietly closed the door behind her and went back to her room. Murphy's shoulder collided with hers as he stumbled toward the stairs – no doubt going to attempt to convince Miss Becca to let him have some coffee – and he mumbled something that might have been an apology (or it might he been a curse). Lexa just ignored him and went into her room to change. 

The kitchen was barely controlled chaos when she went downstairs again, kids reaching and grabbing for things on the table. She caught the jug of milk before it could topple when two kids reached for it at the same time, picking it up and pouring it first into their glasses and then into their bowls of cereal – just a little for one of them, a lot for the other, because they both had opinions about the appropriate milk-to-cereal ratio – to prevent further disaster. 

"Thank you," Miss Becca said. "Your oatmeal is in the microwave." 

"Thank you," Lexa said. She retrieved it and poured a dollop of maple syrup on top, stirring it in as she took her seat. She ate slowly, letting everyone but Murphy (who had succeeded in his quest for caffeine today; Lexa suspected Miss Becca was realizing that it seemed to calm him down enough to make him a less unpleasant person) leave before she got up. 

"I got it," Murphy said, reaching for her bowl when she tried to take it to the sink to rinse it. 

She looked at him for a second, then nodded and handed it over. "Thanks."

"It's my turn," he said, lest she think even for a second that he was doing it just to be nice. 

"Thanks anyway," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"I can't find my—" one of the kids started to whine. Lexa grabbed the 'missing' shoe from where it was lying only a few feet away, half-obscured under a fallen jacket and handed it to him. "Oh. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. She went back upstairs and tried to concentrate on the book she was reading, but her eyelids kept drooping. After the third time she jerked awake when her chin dropped to her chest, she let herself lay down. 

She woke again, disoriented, when Miss Becca knocked on her door. "Time to go," she said. 

Lexa stifled a groan and got up. She checked her reflection to make sure her hair wasn't a disaster after being slept on damp and grimaced. "Just a second," she said, yanking a brush through it and quickly braiding it back from her face. She twisted an elastic around the end as she stepped out. "Okay."

The whole way there she thought about telling Miss Becca what she'd decided, but every time she opened her mouth she closed it again. While her foster mother was driving probably wasn't the best time to have that kind of conversation anyway. And maybe she could ask her counselor – therapist, whatever you wanted to call her – about it first... but probably not. 

"I'll see you in an hour," Miss Becca said when Lexa got called from the waiting room. 

"See you," Lexa said, and forced herself not to drag her feet as she went into the office.

* * *

When she came back out again, Miss Becca didn't ask her about it. She never did; she respected Lexa's privacy, and trusted that if Lexa wanted to talk to her about it, she would. 

Lexa finally managed to force out the words she'd been trying to say all morning when they got back to the house. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course," Miss Becca said. She led her into the living room, and Lexa sat exactly where she'd been when Miss Becca had first proposed the adoption, and her foster mother took the same position as well, like she already knew what this was about and was recreating the moment. 

"It's about what you asked before," Lexa said. "About adopting me."

Miss Becca nodded, her expression neutral but encouraging. 

Lexa bit the inside of her cheek, stopping herself before she tasted blood. "I've thought about it a lot, and... yes. The answer is yes. You can—I want you to—I want to be adopted." 

She expected Miss Becca to smile, to be excited or happy or something, but instead she just kept looking at her, searching her face like she was waiting for the caveat. The silence stretched for so long that Lexa wanted to squirm, but she didn't. "I'm very happy to hear that," she finally said, although her tone was so careful it was a little hard to believe. "May I ask what led to you making that decision?"

Lexa frowned, biting her lip now. It hadn't occurred to her that Miss Becca would ask that, or any questions at all. She'd assumed she would just be happy because she was getting what she wanted. She took a moment to get her thoughts in order, to make sure that she said this right, not knowing the consequences if she got it wrong. 

"Last night," she said quietly, "seeing that... seeing it from the outside, seeing myself on TV... it made me remember. Not... not that I ever forgot, exactly. But it made me remember more clearly what it was like, what I was taught, and..." Lexa paused, trying to gather herself again as words eluded her. "I talked to Anya, too. I was talking to her about it – about what you'd asked – even before we saw it, and she told me about some of the things that would be different if I was adopted. Things that would change. In a good way. It made me realize that I'm tired of being forced to live by a set of one-size-fits-all rules that don't really fit anybody. I'm tired of having people who don't even know me dictate what I can do, where I can go, who I can spend time with and how much and when. I know that you've bent those rules as far as you can for me... because you care about me. Me as a person, not just me as a number, a case." 

Lexa swallowed and forced herself to meet Miss Becca's eyes. "I trust you," she said. The words tried to stay trapped between her teeth, but she forced them out because they were true. "I trust you to make rules that make sense. I trust you to, to understand what I need, and to listen to me when I think you're getting it wrong, and to explain it so I can understand when things have to be a certain way even if I don't like it, and to not just say, 'Because I said so.' After five years... I know you want what's best for me, and I realized that what's best for me is for you to adopt me. So I'm saying yes."

Miss Becca grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm very happy to hear that," she said. "I'll get things started right away. It will take a little time, but hopefully not too much. Hopefully we can have everything finalized by the end of the summer."

Lexa tensed. "Does that mean there's no way I'll be able to go to Family Day? At Clarke's camp?"

"Oh!" Miss Becca shook her head. "Thank you for reminding me about that," she said. "No, it doesn't mean that. I'll still have to get special permission for it, though, and I can't guarantee that will happen. The fact that I'll be filing to adopt you may help. I promise I'll do my best. I know it must be hard having her gone, especially right now." She reached out and touched Lexa's arm, squeezing it gently.

Lexa nodded. "Thank you," she said. 

"I'll let you know." Miss Becca patted her arm one more time and let go. 

Lexa stood up, hesitating for a fraction of a second before walking away. Because she didn't need permission for that here. She didn't need to be dismissed. As long as she wasn't in trouble, she could just go. 

It was a small thing, a tiny thing that most kids probably took for granted, but for Lexa it was huge.

* * *

**Clarke:** I HATE THEM.

**Clarke:** I mean I don't really, except right now I kind of do.

Lexa smiled to herself, assuming Clarke's bunkmates were engaged in some sort of petty drama that was driving Clarke insane. Because that was what happened when you put a bunch of artistic teenagers (or probably any kind of teenagers) together for any amount of time without interaction with the outside world. 

It made her wonder what it would have been like for her if she was still on the compound now, still living with the same kids... 

She pushed the thought away and texted back.

**Lexa:** What did they do now?

**Clarke:** Some of them have become OBSESSED with that broadcast from yesterday. A couple of the drama kids have decided that they should do a "piece" about it for family day. 

_Oh._ Lexa's heart sank into her stomach. Not some petty drama, then. Or... to them it _was_ a petty – or maybe not so petty – drama. Literally. 

**Clarke:** And I want to tell them that they can't, that they have no right. That it's not their story to tell, because it's not. If anyone is going to tell the story, it should be the people who lived it. 

**Clarke:** It's like they don't even realize that you're real people. Real people who are OUR AGE. Like in their heads it's just something that happened long ago and far away to characters. To them it's just fiction. 

Lexa took a breath, let it out slowly. She didn't want to defend these kids, who thought that they could turn her past into entertainment. But...

**Lexa:** Would you be able to think of us as real people if you didn't know me?

The bubble that indicated Clarke was typing popped up and disappeared several times before a message came through.

**Clarke:** I want to believe that I would, but maybe you're right. 

**Clarke:** It feels more like something that would happen in a story or on TV than in real life. 

**Clarke:** I just... I don't want them to get it WRONG. I don't want them to create something that they think is so... deep or whatever they think it is. So OF THE MOMENT or whatever. 

**Clarke:** I don't want them to hurt you.

Lexa smiled at her screen. 

**Lexa:** They can't hurt me. 

It was true. Even if they got every single thing wrong - _especially_ if they got everything wrong – they couldn't hurt her. Because she was sure that they could never guess the truth, and it would be the truth that would hurt, not some sheltered rich kids' imaginings.

_If anyone is going to tell the story, it should be the people who lived it._

What if she _did_ tell the truth? She had told Clarke she wanted to tell her. What if...

**Lexa:** You could tell it.

**Clarke:** It's not my story, either.

**Lexa:** Not all of it, but it touches you. You're closer to it than they are, and I trust you.

The second time she'd said those words today, but they were easier this time, because she'd always trusted Clarke. When she'd trusted no one else, she'd trusted Clarke. 

**Clarke:** I wouldn't even know where to begin. 

_With the truth._ But she didn't know the truth. Not yet. And Lexa wasn't sure she could give her all of it in time, in a way that Clarke could transform into a statement, into art.

But she knew where to start.

**Lexa:** Give me tonight. We can start tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke woke up when her phone buzzed. The clock on its too-bright screen told her it wasn't even seven. 

**Lexa:** Check your email.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and forced herself to sit up as she tapped on the email app so she wouldn't be tempted to close her eyes for 'just a minute...' because it never was. The first message in her inbox was from Lexa, timestamped 3:17 am, with the subject line 'Ten Years Old'. 

There was no explanation, no introduction, nothing to prepare Clarke for what followed. 

It was't a poem, exactly, but it wasn't prose either. There was probably a term for it – free verse, maybe? – but it didn't matter what it was called. What mattered was what it was, what it said, what it _did_.

And what it did was yank Clarke out of herself and into Lexa's world, into the mind of a ten-year-old girl describing in sparse but excruciating detail the end of her childhood.

She read it again, her chest getting tighter and tighter, until the words blurred so badly she couldn't see them anymore, but it didn't matter. Whether she could see them or not, they were in her head and there was no going back. There was no unknowing. 

Her hands shook as she fumbled to bring up her recent calls, tapping on Lexa's name without thinking about the time and the fact that Lexa had obviously been up half the night. 

She picked up on the first ring, and Clarke wondered if she'd managed to sleep at all. "I'm sorry," she said, at the same time Clarke gasped, "I love you."

And then, "I love you too," collided with, "Don't be," and they both laughed but there was no mirth in it. 

"Don't be," Clarke repeated. "I should be the one apologizing. I'm the one who made you—"

"You didn't make me do anything," Lexa said softly. "It was already there. It's always been there, just like the scars have always been there, but now I'm not alone with it."

"Except I'm not there," Clarke said, a wash of hot tears sliding down her cheeks. "I should be there."

"I'm okay, Clarke," Lexa said, even though Clarke could hear that she was crying too. "Even if you're not _here_ here, you're here." She made a soft sound that might have been another laugh. "I'm pointing to my heart. You can't see it. Someday I'll remember you can't see it."

"Rattle rattle," Clarke said, the corners of her mouth pushing upward. 

Another exhale. "Exactly. I know you're with me, and you're going to... you can do something with that, can't you? If you still want to, I mean."

"I want to," Clarke said. "And yes. I'm not sure what, exactly, but yes, I can do something. I'll think of something." As if there was any chance of her thinking about anything else...

"Okay," Lexa said. "Good. If there's anything else you need..."

"Just you to come for Family Day," Clarke said. 

"I will," Lexa said. "Whatever it takes, I'll be there."

"Okay." Clarke heard the sounds of some of her bunkmates stirring. "I should go."

"Have a good day," Lexa said, then snorted. "I sound like a mom."

"If you tell me to 'make good choices'..." Clarke let it trail off so she could hear Lexa laugh, a real one this time, and the claws dug into her chest finally loosened their grip. 

"You always do," Lexa said. "You chose me, after all."

"And I would do it again," Clarke said. 

A pause, and then, "Even if you knew before what you know now?"

"Even if," Clarke told her. "I'll talk to you soon. Get some sleep."

"Who sounds like a mom now?" Lexa said. "Love you."

"Love you too. Bye." She tucked her phone away before her counselor could see she'd been on it. She saw Maya peering at her from the bunk across the cabin and pressed a finger to her lips. Maya smiled and made a motion like she was zipping her lips, and they both crawled out of their bunks to face the day.

* * *

Clarke waited impatiently in front of the auditorium, scrutinizing every car that went past, hoping that it would be her parents. Family Day wasn't until tomorrow, but more than a few parents had already arrived, and campers had been given the afternoon and evening off to spend time with them, or to work on last minute details of their projects, or both. 

Clarke's project still wasn't done, but that was part of why she'd asked her parents – and more importantly Lexa – to come early. For a while it had looked like Lexa might not be allowed to come at all, but whoever was responsible for making exceptions to the rules had finally relented and she had been texting Clarke all morning with reports from the road. 

Her last one had said they were only a few minutes away, and Clarke had practically sprinted from the art studio to the auditorium to meet them as soon as they arrived. Finally she saw the familiar car pulling into the parking lot, and she ran toward it, yanking open the back door before Lexa even had her seatbelt unbuckled and threw her arms around her.

She kissed her without thinking and felt Lexa freeze. "Shit," Clarke breathed, pulling away. "I—"

"We're not stupid and we're not blind," her dad said. "We'll talk about it when we get home."

"Okay," Clarke mumbled. She stepped back, waiting for Lexa disentangle herself and get out before hugging her again... and kissing her again because if they already knew, what was the point in trying to hide it? 

This time Lexa kissed her back, and even though it only lasted a second (because her parents _were_ standing right there) as far as Clarke was concerned it was the best kiss they'd ever shared. Better, even, than the first one, and the ones before she'd left, because there were no more secrets to come in between them anymore. There were things she still didn't know about Lexa, but it wasn't because she was hiding them. It was just because they hadn't talked about them yet. But they would, whenever Lexa was ready. 

Clarke let Lexa go to hug her parents. "Did you—"

"Yes," her mother said, before she could finish. "We brought everything you asked for. It's in the back." She went around to the trunk and opened it, pulling out a box and handing it to Clarke. "The pictures are copies, not the originals, since I didn't know what you were going to do with them."

"They're on photo paper, though, right? They're not just photocopies."

Her mother's look was scathing. "Do you really think I would give you photocopies for an art project? I may have reached my artistic peak with stick figures, but I'm not a complete philistine."

Clarke grinned. "Sorry, Mom."

Her mother smiled back and reached out to stroke her thumb down her cheek. "You have paint on your face, by the way."

"I've been busy!" Clarke said. "Speaking of which, I should get back to work."

"When do we get to see this masterpiece?" her dad asked. 

"Tomorrow. Lexa gets a sneak peek today, though. Assuming I can sneak you in." Clarke shot a look at her parents. "You didn't hear that. But I need her to help me finish a couple things. It's important."

Her father covered his eyes, and her mother covered her ears. Clarke grinned and covered her mouth while Lexa looked at the three of them like they'd lost their minds. "Come on," Clarke said, tucking the box under one arm and grabbing Lexa's hand with the other. "I want you to be the first to see."

* * *

Letting Lexa go at the end of the day was harder than leaving her at the beginning of the summer had been, but even though she'd managed to sneak her into the studio and the dark room, there was no way she could do the same with her cabin. So after dinner with her parents, she held Lexa as long and as tight as she dared before sending her off to the hotel with her parents and returning to her cabin for the last time. 

The space was chaos as the girls searched for things that they had either lost somewhere over the course of the last four weeks or needed for tomorrow, tried to pack, and stressed out over their presentations for Family Day. Clarke was as nervous as anyone, but grateful that at least she didn't have to perform. She would get the chance to formally present her piece to the judges – because of course it couldn't just be a celebration of what they'd accomplished, it had to be a competition, too – but mostly she got to just stand back and let the work speak for itself.

The work, and Lexa.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clarke asked. "I mean, it might be terrible."

Lexa shrugged. "It probably will be terrible. It might be funny."

"It's definitely not supposed to be funny," Clarke said. "They've taken themselves very seriously."

"I'm sure they have," Lexa said. "Come on." 

So they took their seats in the black box theater where the drama girl and some of her cohorts were staging their 'piece' about the 'Children of the Forest'. It was part spoken word poetry, part interpretive dance, part... hell, Clarke didn't know. She spent more of the ten or so minutes that it lasted watching Lexa than what was happening on stage. 

When it was over, Lexa clapped politely along with the (rather confused, Clarke thought) audience, and stood up. "Well," she said, "that was... something."

"Did they get anything right?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "I'm sure they thought they did," she said. 

Clarke let it drop, because it didn't seem like Lexa wanted to talk about it, and she needed to get back to the area where the art show had been set up for her presentation. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," she said. 

"I want to," Lexa said, taking Clarke's hand and holding it so tight her fingers ached. "Let's go."

* * *

Lexa let herself fade back into the crowd as Clarke stood in front of the darkened panels of her display. She nodded when Clarke glanced at her, letting her know that it was okay, that she had this. _They_ had this.

"One of the things that we talked a lot about this summer," Clarke said to the assembled group of staff, judges, parents and campers, "was finding our artistic voice. Everyone here is talented, but it's not just about technical skill. We were encouraged to think about what sets our work apart from someone else's? What makes it ours? What does it – do we – have to say?" She swallowed, looked at Lexa again. "A little over a week into camp, some of us were watching TV one night, and we saw something that forced me to take a step back and look at things from a new perspective. We saw a program about a group of people who had been living in the woods, teaching themselves and others how to survive when 'the end' came. We saw how the group was forcibly disbanded five years ago when it was discovered that they were abusing, _torturing_ children, as part of their indoctrination into the group and their preparation for the end of the world as we know it. We watched video of the children being taken away from, for many of them, the only home they had ever known. We watched them being pulled away from each other, even though it was the only family they had ever had."

Lexa felt a hand on her back, and looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Mr. Jake or Dr. Abby, but no. It was Anya. She slid her arm around Lexa's shoulders and pulled her against her side, and Lexa leaned into her, drawing strength from her sister as she had once drawn strength from another girl who she'd thought of as family. 

"As artists, it's important that we find our voices, but I realized in watching that, and in hearing others talk about how they wanted to, to..." Clarke shook her head slightly. "I realized that sometimes the most important thing that an artist can do is help others find their voices. To give those who have lived through something that the rest of us can only imagine a platform to be heard, so that they no longer have to live in silence, no longer have to bear their secrets alone. So this is my work, which I have created to give a voice to the ones whose stories were taken from them and put on display without their knowledge or permission. This is one of their stories, in their own words."

She pressed play, and Lexa heard her own voice seep into the space, quiet at first as the lights came up and revealed what Clarke had done. For her.

Lexa stayed just behind Anya's shoulder as she took it in, a gigantic mixed media collage of painted forests and sidewalk-chalked pegacorns, photos of them as children and blown-up grainy stills from the TV program, showing two blurry-faced girls clinging to each other with everything they had as they were pulled apart, treehouse blueprints and the red t-shirt printed with a biohazard symbol that she'd arrived in and never gotten rid of. Sprinkled through it all were words and phrases – _her_ words and phrases – cut apart and rearranged so that they were as mixed up as Lexa had been for so long, but the narration, her recorded voice, put it all together for those who cared to listen. 

As it reached the end, the lights dimmed again, until the only thing lit up was a black and white photo of a teenage girl's shoulder, her shirt dropped down to show her shoulder blade and the scars there, round and regular like she'd been branded, not once but seven times. Her head was turned toward the photographer, but the angle was such that you could only just begin make out her face. You probably wouldn't recognize her if you passed her on the street.

You might not even notice if she was standing right next to you.

She could step forward right now, into that light, show her scars, let them all see her and know who she was. She could recite the last few words along with the recording, could declare herself strong, stronger than the people who had tried to make her strong and break her at the same time. 

She could, but she didn't. Instead she leaned into Anya, and when Clarke approached her, she reached out and pulled her against her other side, and they held on to each other, all three of them, as silence and darkness enveloped them.

* * *

"I didn't know you were coming," Lexa said. Clarke had gone to accept the congratulations of those who had witnessed the presentation, which now played over and over in the background as more people made their way through the gallery. 

"I didn't know I was either," Anya said. "Not until yesterday, when I finally got someone to cover my shift for me today. I figured you might need all the support you could get."

"I'm okay," Lexa said. "Really."

"I can see that," Anya said. She pulled her into a hug, resting her cheek against Lexa's hair. "I'm proud of you, you know. That was really brave, putting everything out there."

Lexa shrugged. "It was already out there," she said.

"Not like this," Anya said. "This is... you. Your story."

"No one knows that," Lexa said. 

"Clarke does." Anya stepped back a little to look her in the eye. "Things are really okay?"

Lexa nodded. "In a way, I'm glad this happened," she said. "If it hadn't, I don't know if I ever would have told her. Now... she helped set me free. No more locking things away in boxes in my head. No more hoping I won't say or do something that gives me away. No more wondering if she'll still want to be with me if she finds out. I can just be me. All of me."

Anya hugged her again, holding her tight for a long time. "She's not the only one who loves you, you know."

"I know," Lexa mumbled into her shoulder. "I love you too."

* * *

That night, back at home and in Clarke's bed, sweaty and soft and spent, Lexa rested her head on Clarke's shoulder and shivered when her fingers traced over the scars, the seven bumps that Clarke now knows were no accident. She pressed a kiss to Clarke's collarbone and waited, waited for the question she'd been waiting for since she sent the email that cracked her world wide open.

"Will you tell me their names?" Clarke asked. 

"No," Lexa said. Maybe someday, but not tonight. 

She lifted her head and looked Clarke in the eye, searching for some sign that she wasn't going to take no for an answer, because she was stubborn and hated not getting her way. But there was none. There was only acceptance, a soft smile and a softer kiss. "Okay."

Because she didn't demand it, because she didn't ask, Lexa gave her something more precious to her than the names of the seven scars. She gave her the name that wasn't burned into her skin but carved into her heart. The name she knew Clarke would understand meant more than all the others combined. 

"Luna," she said. "Her name is Luna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you will get to see what Lexa wrote... on Wednesday.


End file.
